


...Or Best Offer

by allegheny



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Headaches & Migraines, Light Angst, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, the hockey fic I said I'd never write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegheny/pseuds/allegheny
Summary: For a phone call from far awayWith a "Hi, how are you today?"And a sign, "Recovery comes to the broken ones"Travis asks Hayesy about Nolan all the time.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 23
Kudos: 172





	...Or Best Offer

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from Everything Must Go! by Winnipeg band The Weakerthans (because NolPat is from there. Get it?)
> 
> Wow, a hockey fic? From known baseball ultra and hockey skeptic allegheny? Yes, friends. Much like I show up for every baseball player with the yips or PCS, I was informed of chronic illness angst opportunities and you know how much I like working through the frightening reality of permanence through writing!! Plus, I've been getting into hockey a little bit. fun sport. the flyers have a really cool aesthetic. I wrote about them. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Travis asks Hayesy about Nolan all the time.

Maybe a little too much.  
See, the thing is, Travis would text Nolan himself, just to check up on him. But he figures that Nolan gets the question a thousand times every day. And he figures, knowing him, that he's pretty tired of it. Nolan's this guy who glares at you so cold you wish you'd just died — doesn't need words, doesn't care to use words, in fact; all he needs is a look. Travis is pretty sure he's been dishing out a lot of those in the past few weeks, concern and questions layering on the uncertainty, the frustration that he knows Nolan must feel. He’s already not much of a talker. Travis doesn't want to make it any worse than it already is.  
So every day when Hayes walks into the locker room Travis makes eye contact, and after a while Hayes already knows what he's gonna ask when he drops his bag onto the bench.

"He seemed fine, bud. He had a bit of a headache but he ate. So that's good."

Every other day, Hayes will tell him he's not sure. Because Nolan was shuttered in his room when he left. Curtains drawn, covers up, room temperature water on the nightstand. (Hayes doesn't tell Travis all of that. Travis just assumes, imagines Nolan sluggish and bleary-eyed, and gets himself upset all on his own.)

The season's going great; Travis should have nothing to complain about. And really, he doesn't. He _feels_ happy. He loves the boys. He's never felt more at ease on the ice, more at ease with himself.  
And yet, it's like there's this gaping hole in his chest, in his life.  
Because used to see Nolan all the time.  
And now he never sees Nolan at all.

It used to be like this: they'd always be together. They shared hotel rooms, two queen sized beds and a TV where they'd plug the console in and play video games neatly arranged with a view on the city of the day. They sat together on the plane, Travis chittering away, Nolan patiently half-listening, giggling and interjecting over the game he was playing. They sat together on the bus, Nolan sometimes drifting off on Travis's shoulder after a long tiring game, all the adrenaline slumping down into the bottom of his chest. They carpooled together, Nolan's car _never_ up to date on the gas, his ass digging a dent into Travis's passenger seat at length, his big grabby hands already on the aux cord as soon as he opened the door, their quiet, comfortable conversation droning over the sound of whatever the hell he'd play that day.  
They ate lunch together, and dinner together. Travis would knock at Nolan's door on the floor below, invite himself in, lie down the full length of the beige couch, and let Nolan order whatever he felt like. On other nights, Nolan would be coming up the stairs and eat what Travis had tried to cook — a bucketful of pasta, never enough stir fry, a big omelette or two — emphasis on the _try_.  
They fit together so well Travis almost wants to give credit to all of that "opposites attract" bullshit. A broken clock's right twice a day, after all. It's not that they have nothing in common, on the contrary— after all they're colleagues for a reason; it's more that they somehow complete each other. Like jigsaws, if you will. Nolan's laid-back attitude, Travis's excitability; Nolan's city-boy affections, Travis's hick tendencies; Nolan's good listening ear, Travis's never-ending flow of conversation. Nolan's surprising ineptitude, Travis's surprising aptness.

But for the past few months, his life outside the rink has been an off-balance, limping routine of complacent loneliness and placeholder hang-outs, Slaughts and him sharing hotel rooms and going out on the town with the other boys, and getting back to his bed only to lie there on his side, chasing sleep and wishing Nolan had been there, a steady companionship he misses and craves for.  
Even in the offseason he hadn't felt this disoriented. He and Nolan would text back and forth, though of course he did most of the texting, slumped on the beat down wicker bench on his parents' porch in the Ontario summer mildness, thinking of Nolan way up north-west at the heart of the continent. He'd write about the fish he caught, about his workout at the beach. Nolan would write back about his Winnipeg August, and he'd always video-call Travis, eager to tell him, deadpan as always with the slightest smile, about his day, and his high scores, the hunting trip his father's taking him out on the next day. 

Travis has grown used to all of this. He's grown used to Nolan's presence permeating every inch of his life. And now it's not there and Nolan's too ill to text him, too ill to call him. Travis doesn't know how he is, how he's doing, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. 

So when Hayes comes in one day and tells him he should come by to get lunch soon, Travis can't even let the nerves bother him just yet.

\---

Of course, the plans are subject to change. Nolan's migraines are unpredictable and ever-changing. They make a tentative date on the day after and cross fingers that he feels okay when he wakes up. Hayes tells him he'll probably be out working out, but promises him that Nolan will text Travis to confirm or cancel.  
Nolan's last text is from a week ago. It reads "nice celly bonehead." Travis's reply, which he took ten minutes to compose, reads "wish you were here for it bud", and then realizing how he's twisting the knife in the wound, "planning one for my next assist on you." Not much better. 

He wakes up way too early, before his alarm. The first thing he thinks of when he sits up in bed, still sore from last night's game, is what Nolan will want to eat. Something not too smelly, he assumes. He knows strong smells can trigger headaches. He should really ask Nolan, maybe he could show up at Hayes's place with the food, that would be a nice touch, but that would require texting Nolan and probably involuntarily putting pressure on him to accept lunch even though he might be feeling like total trash, and Travis doesn't want to force Nolan to do anything, especially not out of a misplaced sense of obligation towards him, and he's overthinking it all completely, but he's just so _nervous_, when they haven't seen each other in _weeks_. 

So he gets up, stretches, does his off-day routine, turns on the Sportscenter highlights, fiddles with the EQ on his stereo until his phone buzzes. 

"yo. 1PM, sushi? there's a good place next to Hayesy. just don't get anything smoked."

Travis rushes to his feet and within minutes, he's got his toque on, his overcoat drawn, his wallet and car keys in his pocket, and he's headed on a short drive to the converted warehouse apartment Hayes bought north of Chinatown.  
He gets a selection of maki and nigiri, straight fresh fish and edamame, seaweed, no bullshit. Nolan needs vegetables and protein, good healthy wholesome stuff that's light on the stomach.  
In the elevator, Travis's heart is beating a hundred miles an hour like a god-damn war drum.  
Why is he so keyed up? It's just Nolan. It's just his buddy. There's nothing to worry about.  
And yet, when he knocks on the door he's nerve-wracked. And he thinks about their condos and he thinks about how he gets a little sad every time he has to walk past Nolan's old door, and he thinks about how he never felt nervous knocking on _that_ door. 

Nolan answers.  
His hair is down, he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He looks more tired than Travis remembers ever seeing him, but he looks clean and neat, his cheeks clean-shaven around his fuzzy chin-strap his face relaxed, his stance loose.  
Travis is just so happy to see him. 

"Hey, man." He smiles, and lifts the paper bag up. "Hungry?"

Nolan smiles, and his upturned blue eyes glisten.  
Travis feels something stir in his chest that feels so strange he almost makes a sound. Has Nolan always had such nice eyelashes. Is he just noticing because he hasn't seen him in a while? 

"Kind of. Come on in, dude."

The place has high ceilings, the windows are large, the living room airy. There's a nest of blankets and pillows here Nolan must have been sitting, maybe napping. Travis’s gut twists when he imagines him lying there, exhausted, in pain. The thought agitates him, and he’s taken by a strong urge to destroy whatever it is that’s causing Nolan to suffer himself. But he shouldn’t be thinking about this now. 

Nolan reaches down towards his hand, and Travis, weirdly, notices their fingers touching as Nolan takes the bag from his hand and goes to set it down on the coffee table. It's only when Nolan looks up that he notices he's been just standing there, and he rushes along to help unpack.

\---

Nolan wants to know the league gossip, so Travis has been telling him for the past fifteen minutes, earning entertained noises and snappy comments from him.  
He seems alright. And that's the most unsettling thing about brain stuff — Travis can barely bring himself to think of it as a disorder, it sounds so serious, so severe, so permanent, even, and he just doesn't want to think of Nolan's brain as _disordered_, as suffering from something that has a name — it's just invisible. A broken hand, a strained ligament, or knocked out teeth, they're easy to notice, easy to assess, easy to help with. Migraines are the same kind of scary as concussions— always hiding, hard to recognize, and hard to deal with. And Travis feels helpless to assist his friend, and that sucks, because he shouldn't be thinking about this, Nolan's okay right now and he should be enjoying this moment, but all the fear weighs on his shoulders. 

"So, um." He finally asks, between two bites. "How is it here? Hayesy a good roomie?"

"Yeah, yeah." Nolan smiles again. "He's really cool about everything. He's like a big brother, you know."

Travis looks down at his plastic tray, the California rolls staring back at him. He wonders if he could have helped. Maybe he could have taken a place with Patty himself. Maybe he could have taken care of him. Sure, Hayes is older, and he's got it together, and he actually owns the place, and it's big, but what if? Would Travis have made it better or worse? Probably worse. 

"And you? What do you do now that I'm not constantly squatting your couch?" Nolan asks, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

Travis feels his cheeks flush, for some reason. Why is he embarrassed? Probably because he does miss Nolan. 

"Uh," He stumbles.

"I gotta say it's weird not having you around all the time." Nolan says, a little quieter.

There's a rush of something in Travis's throat, a lump rising at the base of his neck, and he vividly recalls a few scenes: Nolan high off his head, lying upside down on his sofa, in hysterics at one of Travis's dumb jokes, Nolan trying to cook pancakes and ending up covered head to toe in batter somehow, Nolan beating him at fucking COD again and dodging the controller he'd thrown at him, Nolan standing in front of the mirror, struggling with his stupid tie knot until Travis walked over and tied it for him, nice and neat, and how since that day he'd tied all of Nolan's ties without even protesting, because he liked doing it, liked Nolan's half-apologetic, half-cheeky smile when he handed him the strip of fabric. Liked to stand with his face so near Nolan's chest, looping the tie around and up and down, feeling his breath swelling in his lungs and blowing on the top of his forehead. Liked to give it a standalone tie and chuck it to Nolan to let him sling it around his neck and tighten it, just to observe the neat little movements of his hands. Liked the tingle in his fingers when he walked up and smoothed it out for Nolan.

"Yeah." Travis replies, glancing up. Nolan's looking down at his knees. "I... It's not as much fun without you, you know."

"I... that's nice." Oh no. That was probably a bit awkward. It's going to make him feel bad. "It's not as much fun without you either."

"Yeah, all the guys are pulling for you, you know—"

"No, I mean, you."

"Oh. Thanks." Travis feels flattered. He tends to forget Nolan also actually likes him when he's away from him, apparently.

"Not that I don't like the boys."

"Nah, I know you love the boys."

Nolan snorts.

"You guys have been killing it. I just wish I could be there." he looks wistful.

"We all do, man, but, you gotta rest, you know that." Travis says softly, though he's sure he doesn't need to tell Nolan.

"Better than anyone, dude. Better than anyone." 

Ouch, yep. He probably overstepped — again. Of course Nolan knows. Travis curses himself. Why can't he be more tactful?

"Like, one day, I'll be okay, you know." Nolan continues nevertheless. "And I'll be like, wow, maybe I can come back. Maybe I can be back and play hockey and all. Be in it. And I get excited about it and maybe planning a workout if I have a couple days like that in a row and then the day after it's back to the same, and I can't do anything, at all."

Travis sits and listens. He doesn't do that too often, but this is an occasion that warrants it. Eyes riveted to Nolan's blank face, his heart just about breaks seeing those eyes half-lidded in defeat. 

"I guess that's why I don't really wanna talk to anyone really. I don't wanna give anyone false hopes. I don't wanna give myself false hopes. Stuff might never come back to normal, you know."

"Dude. Shut up, don't say that." Travis knee-jerks in panic. "It's gonna be fine."

"Teeks, you don't know that."

"Well, well, you don't know either." Travis hurries clumsily. How could Nolan say that? Of course things will come back to normal eventually. What would he do otherwise?

Nolan just sighs.

"See, that's what I'm talking about." He murmurs quietly. 

Travis just keeps making it worse, doesn't he? He just walked right into it, all the stuff he knew he wasn't supposed to say, he did. Desperately, he looks for words.

"I— shit, man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I know you gotta hear that all the time. I just..."

He can't look at Nolan's face right now. He tries to find a place where to let his eyes rest, the tray on his knees, Nolan's socks next to him, the brown bag on the coffee table sitting with the XBOX controllers and Hayesy's universal remote.

"I guess the thing is I just miss you a lot." He ends up saying. 

The silence that follows forces him to move his gaze, reluctantly, carefully, back to Nolan. He's got his hand curled up against his chin. He's hugging himself with his other arm. He's staring down at his own lap.

"I know." he says. "Hayesy told me."

"He what." He'd never verbally _told_ Hayes that he missed Nolan, well, it was maybe a little obvious, but still.

"He told me you missed me, you're always asking about me and all but you're too nice and worried and polite to bother me."

A hint of a smile shows at the corner of Nolan's mouth when he sees Travis go beet red. Hayes didn't have to call him out like that. That was so unfair. That was like, a violation of his privacy to read him like that. 

"Dude. Don't be embarrassed. You know I miss you a lot too." 

"You don't have to say that." Travis immediately replies, despite himself. 

"No, I'm serious. Why would I not miss you?"

And Nolan's really smiling now, his eyebrows raised, as if to silently call Travis stupid.

"I don't know. I can be a lot. Must be nice getting a little break from me."

"Don't be a fucking idiot."

Travis gives Nolan's leg a gentle punch for that. He gets a half-hearted kick back. It's just like it's always been.

"Of course you're a lot, but that's why I like you. Fucking dummy."

Travis just doesn't know what to say. Nolan's just sitting there, still smiling softly. Travis thinks about Nolan's stall, half-empty; about his sweater hanging in there. Thinks about how much he misses that gentle smile. 

"You're right, it's dumb. It's just— I just feel like I'm not helping, you know. I mean, I know it's— you need to be alone a lot, it's selfish to want to see you more when you, you can't, but I wish I could do more..."

"Teeks, you know—"

"No, no, wait, I shouldn't have said that. I just don't want you to feel forced to like, communicate with me if you can't, I just, I just want to say you can tell me if you need anything, you know, I wanna help however I can—"

"Well, you know, right now, I could actually maybe use a hug."

Travis stops. Nolan's looking kind of meek, his hands in his lap, shoulders drawn in.

"...Really?" Travis asks, genuinely wondering if Nolan's trying to fuck with him, hockey instincts protecting him. 

"I haven't hugged anyone in a while, I guess." Nolan shrugs, with disarming sincerity and the softest fleeting downturned smile.

Travis almost forgets what to do with himself. Of course, he hugs the boys all the time, but they're quick hugs, bro hugs, one-armed hugs, helmet bumps.  
Nolan is asking for a real hug, pads off, street clothes on. And it's like Travis's body has forgotten, like he's got the— what do you call it— the yips of hugging. 

"I, I mean sure." he stumbles, not wanting to leave Nolan hanging, not wanting him to think he's asked for something unreasonable, it's just Travis is awkward and his heart is back to beating too fast and too loud for no reason.

He gathers himself, because he’s got to, but he knows he’s red in the face. He sits up, shuffles closer, and opens his arms hesitantly. 

“C’mere.” 

Nolan gives him an upturned look from underneath his eyelashes — which do look thicker — his lips stretch further, and he practically falls into Travis’s chest, throwing his arms around him, hands clasped on Travis’s shoulder blades. He tucks his face against Travis’s collarbones, and Travis wonders, embarrassed and taken aback, if he can feel the rhythm his heart is pounding out against his ribcage. 

There’s something so earnest and childlike about this hug. It's tight, and it lasts, and Travis just wants to pull him closer, wants to protect him, because he feels so helpless and small there nuzzling into his neck, even though he's a good 6'2 and 200 pounds of man.  
He can feel Nolan's fear, his uncertainty; his need for reassurance, his yearning for affection. His vulnerability, skin-deep and raw. 

Nolan’s hair tickles his cheek, and Travis lets himself sink into it, his chin against Nolan’s shoulder, lets his eyes lid, and lets his lungs deflate.

He didn’t know he needed this as much as he does.

It's more than a minute later when Nolan sighs, and the hug ends, Nolan's arms slipping off Travis's back. 

"Thanks." He utters.

Travis has to clear his throat. The truth is he wants back into the hug. He wants Nolan close again. And he doesn't know what to do about it.  
Nolan's leg is flush against his. It would be easy to pull him back in, but—

"You think too much, man." Nolan says, barely louder than a murmur.

And his hand is on Travis's shoulder. His fingers are brushing against Travis's longish hair. And they're combing, gingerly, into the length of it.  
Travis holds his breath. Stays still. Closes his eyes. Exhales silently. 

Nolan strokes up the sensitive side of his neck. And then through his brownish strands.  
Little hairs stand up like swords on Travis's skin where Nolan lifts dark locks and lets them softly fall back down.  
His hand, warm and large, presses against the nape of Travis's neck, deliberate, tender. His thumb rasps, slowly, at the back of Travis's ear, like a cat. 

Travis is dumbstruck by Nolan's touch. He can't think; can't move; doesn't want to. He just leans into Nolan's hand, plunged in the dark behind his eyelids, in a trance almost. 

"Hey." Nolan whispers, and he's so close again that Travis feels his warm breath against his face. "Open your eyes, stupid."

Travis does. Nolan's face fills his vision, blue eyes huge, dark circles lining under them like a reminder, dainty eyebrows, Ukrainian nose and rosy cheeks, bright pink lips underneath. 

Nolan closes his eyes, and kisses him. 

It’s so damn soft, so damn warm, that Travis almost forgets he’s even there, melts into this kiss he didn’t know he wanted, didn’t know he _needed_.  
When he comes to he's cupping Nolan's face with both hands, kissing back slow and pliant, boneless against him. Nolan's fingers are tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. For a second, their lips come apart, and Nolan presses his brow against Travis's, rubs their noses together, lips ghosting against the fuzz on Travis's top lip.

Travis hadn't realized he wanted Nolan.  
But he did. Oh, he did. He wanted him; had wanted him all along. Nolan was _special_. Nolan was _so_ special. 

And that’s what had made the absence so cruel. And the kiss he’s slipping back into so sweet. And he’s half-delirious with release, all his nerves evaporated into thin air.  
They’re kissing, and it feels so meant to be.

They’re so absorbed Travis isn’t sure how long it lasts, but when the front door rattles with a key jangling against the lock, they jump apart like they’ve been shocked.  
The door opens, and Hayes walks in. 

"Hey! Teeks! You came by!" He exclaims jovially, throwing a bag onto the floor. "You guys have fun?"

Travis links eyes with Nolan. He's pink, disheveled, a sheepish look on his face. When Travis smiles at him, guilelessly, he just smiles back, lips swollen from the kiss.

"Yeah." Nolan replies, still looking into Travis with a strange kind of happy intensity. "You were right. It did cheer me up." 

Travis can see Hayesy giving them a look, a smirk dimpling his cheek, but he pays no mind.  
Things with Nolan won't be easy and they don't know what's coming. There's a lot of things he won't be able to help with.  
But at least, they've got this.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!! It'd mean so much!
> 
> find me on tumblr @ [alleghenys](https://alleghenys.tumblr.com/post/611882540762071040/or-best-offer-rating-teen-word-count-3833)


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